


Salvation

by makesometime



Series: Returned to Me at the End [1]
Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Reincarnation, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-26 23:53:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14413188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makesometime/pseuds/makesometime
Summary: Outside, the world is quiet. The fighting stopped the previous day, the resistance rounded up and dealt with easily without any sort of coherent leadership. Rook knows she should feel guilty. A part of her realises she could have been their salvation.Yet as she walks towards her own, such feelings do not manage to linger.





	Salvation

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what I'm doing with these two, I haven't even played the game. But as soon as I watched someone stream that final scene, I haven't been able to clear my head of goddamn Joseph Seed.

Rook comes into the world crying and her parents like to joke that she doesn’t stop for six months. 

While her childhood friends dream of fantastical jobs and far-off places, she’s preoccupied by the ache deep down inside that she’s barely equipped to understand. 

She comes to refer to it as her missing piece. Throughout her youth she tries to fill the gap with hobbies, partners and jobs. On a whim, she turns to law enforcement - if she cannot help herself, at least she can help others.

When the first mention of the Project at Eden’s Gate floats around the department, she feels a momentary clarity so acute that it makes her head spin. She goes to Whitehorse, asks to read the files and spends ten minutes staring at the photograph of the self-proclaimed Father, Joseph Seed.

She has no right to be on the mission. Marshal Burke looks at her with utter confusion as the team meets to plan their approach for the apprehension of the cult leader.

It doesn’t matter. She needs answers. 

She needs to know why the brightness of his gaze hasn’t left her mind’s eye since she first saw his face. Why, for the first time, it feels as if there’s a light at the end of the tunnel.

Is the affliction solely her own? 

And if it isn’t… what does that mean for Hope County?

#

Rook sees recognition in the Father’s eyes as soon as she stands in front of him. Hidden behind those hazy yellow lenses in the dimly lit church, she almost doubts the truth of her understanding. Yet it’s an undeniable flash, a moment of utter disbelief. 

And it is gone as soon as he raises his arms for her.

She hesitates. The briefings have told her all she needs to know about Joseph Seed. How he manipulates and charms. How his family collude, confuse and condemn. That alone should have her tugging the cuffs from her belt.

She hesitates, regardless. The acknowledgement of his momentary slip tugged at that empty space inside her, buried deep and so long unconsidered. In truth, she doesn’t have the ability to comprehend it. When she slips the cuffs around his wrists, he looks almost… _grateful_.

The walk to the chopper is long, her thoughts muddled and incomprehensible. The initial pull in her gut settles to more of a pulse, discomfitingly familiar. They’re in the air before she realises, her heart in her throat. She should say something, _anything_. Joseph catches her eye. 

And he smiles.

They’re crashing before she can find her voice, her body beaten and shaken by the force of the impact. She aches, straining against her bonds, knowing nothing more than the urge to escape. When Joseph appears in front of her and takes her wrist, she stills, struck dumb.

He stretches out his right arm for the headset and she chokes on a gasp, her free hand clutching at the hand that holds her still. Her chest constricts and her heart thuds an irregular rhythm.

Her face is on his arm, tattooed in loving detail. 

She stares, mute at the impossibility of the situation. Joseph reaches for her with an upturned palm once again.

“Come with me, child.”

She doesn’t realise she’s running _away_ until the gunfire starts to quiet, Burke’s is hand around her bicep with a grip that aches far less than the renewed throb in her stomach. It grows heavier with each step she takes, as the burning desire to place her hand in the Father’s fades.

His tattoo. She repeats it in her head, over and over like a mantra, pretending to listen to the Marshal’s ramblings. She must mutter it at one point, if his alarmed glance is anything to go by. 

In the end, it doesn’t matter. She loses Burke at the bridge. 

John finds her instead.

#

“My brother hasn’t thought clearly since he met you.”

Rook stares as John sets up his kit, laying out the inks and needles. He’s told her what’s to come. She’s well aware of her fate, silently awaiting his judgement. This is not unexpected.

“He’s reminded of a time long past. When we not what we are now, when he was forced into an unwilling sacrifice.”

John’s words, however, are weapons. They’re designed to draw a reaction from her that she is pitifully bad at hiding.

“He thinks I don’t know why.” He says, slotting the needles into place. He glares at her, the anger he feels for his brother bleeding into his carefully-controlled persona. “He seems to have forgotten who gave him his ink.”

She bites the tip of her tongue to keep herself quiet in the face of his accusations. She has no means to deny it, after all. John jerks his chin at her chest, inviting her to act before he can do so on her behalf. 

Rook unbuttons her shirt, allowing it to hang loose at her sides. John’s left hand covers her breast, the tattoo machine buzzing lightly in his right. It’s not an unfamiliar sound, but its malevolence is new.

“You want for something that is not your own. Your gaze is turned, your mind transfixed by the reminder of a life that you did not live.”

John smiles, pressing the needles to her chest.

“Your sin is Envy, Deputy.”

She finds herself grateful that at least it is short. 

#

She passes through the doors of the chapel with a shiver, the knotted ball of discomfort in her stomach unravelling with each step. It’s hard to believe it has been only days since she arrived in Hope County.

Outside, the world is quiet. The fighting stopped the previous day, the resistance rounded up and dealt with easily without any sort of coherent leadership. Rook knows she should feel guilty. A part of her realises she could have been their salvation.

Yet as she walks towards her own, such feelings do not manage to linger.

Joseph awaits her at the altar, his attention cast down at the gospel in front of him. She senses she is intruding, but each step is now almost against her will, as if a cord affixed behind her navel is drawing her near.

He looks up at the creak of a floorboard, his eyes unnaturally bright when unclouded by the yellow glasses. 

“I forgive you the delay, child.” He says, reaching his (right) hand for her. “It was necessary for you to meet with John, after all.”

She takes his hand. A shot of electricity bolts up her wrist, making her shiver as he pushes her shirt to one side. His assessment is curious, intrigue crossing his features. He understands. In a way, she is beginning to also.

“God spoke that you would return to me.” 

Rook hums, tilting her head to one side. “Me?” She murmurs, trailing her fingers over his tattoo. “Or her?”

“Should I comprehend a difference that is not apparent?” Joseph asks, folding his fingers overtop her hand.

The truth burns as the words pass over her tongue. “I cannot be her, Father.” 

Joseph smiles, again, dipping his head to press his mouth to her wrist. His lips are warm as they mouth silent scripture into her skin. Rook imagines his words burn, akin to the still-healing skin on her chest, yet it is all in her head. 

_Is this all in her head?_

When he straightens, he nods, leading her quietly across to the window. “You have returned to me, at the end. And together we will march to Eden’s Gate.”

Rook looks out over Hope County and winds her fingers with his. The press of his palm to hers feels like sanctification. “This is our salvation?”

“No, child. This is our _reward_.”


End file.
